Oh boy! My leg it gets so, so lonely uncle Russ...

That's where it all goes.
You can never, ever compare it.(the dick-end is a strawberry, the sack extends outward, like a wing...)
Like the first time that love is made,(see also "The Jesus-Leg Factor" -more on that one very soon!)
like the filthy stuff it is made of.(layers of lung-fat coated in fresh cream and topped with apple-pips)
The oats, the cornflakes sprayed around like a confetti wedding of dick-pops...(mummy, who keeps popping all my dicks...?)
How many more good men must we lose to the intolerence of the bad gender?
You know what gender I mean, the one which wipes both it's bums when it pisses. Who thought of that anyhow? Which mastermind blueprinted the double-piss?
I imagine a future;
50% of gender, strapped to buckets so that we can keep the forests.(keep the wilting plants that hide the wobbly-arsed children whom are lazily wanking & trying to re-invent the rainbow. -it's made of rain you dickheads!) A world full of half-full poo trenches, and the flies will buzz like an orchestra of bees to the anal trumpets of the morning thunder-curries. (those dogs with buckets strapped to their heads? It's the universal sign that nobody cares what you can see anymore)
Only a full examination of all the important things will save this world. Let's start with going to the circus.
Let's start by finding uncle Russ and bringing him home...